Twenty Two Seconds
by TheIllustriousMadamRed
Summary: It's amazing how much can change in the blink of an eye. How quickly a happily ever after can come tumbling down into shards of broken glass and a frantic shout in the dark. (I've tried to keep it pretty spoiler free. so you should be safe in reading :D)
1. Shattered Glass

Chapter One

 _'_ _The day the mirror shattered'_

There are a few things that Teresa Lisbon will never forget.

The moment that she realised what it was her father had become, when the blinders were removed from her eyes and he changed from a loving man into an abusive drunkard. The day that she graduated from the academy, standing on a stage and staring out at a crowd of faces, the subtle hint of freshly cut grass and pride in the air around her. She remembers vividly the moment when she finally understood her team, how much they meant to her and how irrevocably they had become a part of her life. Then the day that she first met Patrick Jane and her whole life changed. He'd worn what was now considered his usual garb, his eyes sparkling with unexpressed mirth and his dazzling polite smile as he shook her hand. Then he'd opened his mouth and she'd just known that he was going to be a source of constant irritation for as long as she knew him.

And now…This.

This godforsaken barn in the middle of nowhere. Peeling garish red paint and cracked white lines on aging wood. The rusty stench of machinery that had once served a purpose, now left to decay. The way the dust clung to her skin, to her clothing, in a way she wasn't sure that she'd ever manage to get rid of it all.

She will never forget, though she will wish to, the sight of the blood. The sheer vivid redness of it. Hardly being the first time she's seen blood it shouldn't be memorable. But this was different. This…this was worse.

Because it was the blood of a man who had taken everything from Patrick Jane. In the end…Patrick had taken his vengeance.

She watched, dumbfounded, as Red John's head rocked back, the back of his skull exploding outwards like some cheap piñata. The shot echoing like a physical punch in the empty caverns of the barn. But it wasn't candy that came tumbling from him. It was bits of blood and brain and flesh. Slowly, like something out of a play, the body relaxed. The head, or at least what was left of it, rested back in a very unnatural angle.

The sight was a gruesome one, yet not entirely unique in its gore. It was not what held her frozen.

It was the look on Jane's face.

She had expected relief. She had expected some kind of exultant joy in finally killing the man who had destroyed his life. What she had not expected was the horror. As if realising that in killing this man he had forever put himself across the lines of forgiveness. The one thing that he should never have done, never really wanted to do. She had known he intended to kill this man. But part of her had always hoped that they could take him down together. That Jane would have the satisfaction of watching this monster rot behind bars.

But they hadn't.

He'd chosen.

And he hadn't chosen her.

Spots danced in front of her eyes, reminding her that she needed to breath, and she let the shocked breath escape, "Jane."

His head snapped up, eyes finally focusing on her. His expression was broken and sorrowful. Not at his actions, she sensed, but that she had witnessed it. His hair curled about his face, a faint spattering of blood upon the pale flesh.

Blowback was a bitch.

"Lisbon." His voice is slightly hoarse, and just that little bit lost.

She wants to scream at him. Wants to shout and stamp her feet like a child protesting the unfairness of it all. She wants to knock some sense into him, let her knuckles scrape across flesh and let out the anger she feels escape. But it's as if she's swallowed ice. She can't move, the rush of in-drawn air to her sensitised lungs feels arctic in her throat and she can't seem to draw enough to properly breathe.

Patrick Jane.

Murderer.

The uniformed officers brush past her to arrest him. The part of her that values the law above all else is thankful for that. Another part of her thought it was strange. That it should be her that does it. It's always been her that cleans up his messes.

"Wait." She doesn't know how she manages to speak, only that the tone carries her forward when her mind doesn't know what to do. They obey though, standing aside and letting her move closer. It has to be her. It was always going to be her, and the bastard knew it.

She walks over to him, the feeling of distance far more vast than it actually is, watching in a kind of daze as he drops the gun and moves away from it. He's surrendering. Damn him.

She wants to hit him. But she doesn't.

She wants to let him go and pretend for a brief moment that this never happened.

But instead she snaps the stainless steel around his wrists, words dropping from her lips without conscious interaction from her brain. That tired old litany said to every criminal they apprehend. It wasn't really her saying it though, was it? It was just habit. Brought on by the sound of handcuffs. She's wounded inside, her mind still reeling.

He doesn't fight her. Doesn't speak at all.

She doesn't know what she'd do if he did.

* * *

 _Authors note: Hey guys :D_

 _SOO originally i was going to post a Christmas themed fic that i'm working on, but it's still not quite right and this damn plot bunny would not leave me alone._

 _So instead there's this! and it's not finished yet ;)_

 _I hope you'll enjoy this work of mine, and please let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below ;)_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	2. Tumbling down

Chapter Two

 _'Watching the Shards tumble down'_

"Say something"

His voice is a soft plea, a startling interruption in the heavy silence of the interrogation room. They are alone, given time and space for a few moments. Everyone had known that they were good friends, perhaps potentially more, and thus they had been given this time. It's not that she doesn't want to speak, indeed there are hundreds of words bubbling in her mind. Clawing at her throat with scalding razors. Some of the mildest ones start with 'You' and end with 'Bastard'.

But there's nothing that she can bring herself to say.

He chose revenge over a future. Death over life and ultimately, Red John over her.

It's a silly thing to include on that list. But it bothers her. It's something that inevitably follows the circuit in her mind, inserting itself with unashamed rudeness into the cycle.

Revenge over a future, Death over life, Red John over her.

She's struck by how peculiar he looks now. Somehow he doesn't look at all like himself. Sitting in that interrogation room as he had a thousand times before. The features are all the same, but he's on the wrong side of the table. His hair is no less golden then it was a couple hours ago, it has barely changed since she met him after all. His eyes were still that enchanting forest green that made her think of peppermint and spring. Those eyes had tormented her in her dreams for a long time, filled with heat and a possessiveness she had never seen them mimic in real life.

Perhaps now those eyes would haunt her nightmares.

Looking at him, so quiet, so cowed, everything in her rejected it. Like walking up the stairs in the dark and missing that final step, it was a disturbing feeling of wrongness that she couldn't deny. It was wrong to see him sitting there, like a leopard leashed in the zoo.

How long has it been since he spoke to her? asked in that tremulous voice for her to say something. To take the plunge and shout at him, to berate and lecture as she would have in any other circumstance. Certainly long enough for him to raise his gaze from the blood speckled flesh of his hands and meet her eyes.

No, words won't come now. She is angry and hurt, twisting in an impossibly unnameable sensation that could be both.

How could he do this? how could he make this choice?

Yet, perversely, how can she blame him for doing exactly as he told her he was going to do?

"Teresa?" he speaks, another sound in the oppressive tension in the room.

"Don't." The word is out, breaking through the painful grip on her throat in a harsh mutter, "Don't you dare call me that now."

He looks confused for a moment, off kilter and perplexed. It hurts that she finds that expression adorable.

"It's your name." this time his words are slow, still trying to puzzle out why she's said it.

"I know it's my name. But my name is reserved for my friends. At this point I'm not sure that's what you are." this time there is venom in her voice, a strange desire to wound him as much as he's wounding her.

"I know you're angry." His expression now is mollifying. But she's sick of that expression, sick of the way that he makes her forgive him. This isn't something he can just smooth away with an amused smile and a flirty remark. She doesn't want the fake apology he has no doubt composed on the trip over here. She's far too aware of where she sits on the scale now, he threw away everything they were when he chose the gun over her.

Her hands slam down on the table, a flash of rage that takes them both by surprise.

"Don't try and make this better. You Can't." her words are harsh, tightly leashed but still biting at the air, dripping with pain and horror.

He flinches back from that tone, from the accusation and agony in her eyes. His lips purse together, and he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

But she knows better now.

"No, you're not." She pauses, trying to maintain a grip on herself. She wants to lash out, strike at him and make believe that it was real. That it was just another terrible nightmare and she'll wake up in the morning with only a brief memory of this feeling. "Don't lie to me again. If you were really sorry you wouldn't have made the choice you did."

His face contorts briefly, a flash of pain in those glorious eyes but she keeps talking, "You knew exactly what would happen if you made that choice. If you broke from the plan. You chose revenge over this team, over your friends. You made that choice!"

The words hurt, slashing and slicing at her throat like the pieces of fingernail she used to swallow when she was anxious. She forcibly draws herself back, she cannot scream at him, especially not here. Not in front of the damn station. She was Teresa Lisbon, she had a reputation to live up to. She was a cop, uncompromising and unyielding when it came to the bad guys.

If she started screaming at him, she'd start crying. Tears would break her down, make her a mess and let his actions shatter her. That's something she cannot afford, not if she wants to survive this with any part of her intact.

His eyes glittered, not in their usual amusement, but as if he were about to speak.

But she couldn't give him that chance. His words were like honey, slipping and seeping into her senses with a power they had no right in wielding. It's how he's gotten around her anger before and she's damn certain she won't allow it again. She needs the anger, she needs the fire in her blood and the steel in her spine to get her through the rest of this cursed day.

She turns on her heel, strung up and strangling with the words she wants to say, and carefully walks towards the door.

He heeds her wishes and calls out for her "Lisbon."

But she doesn't look back.

* * *

 _Authors note: Hi GUYS! thank you so much for your reviews, i really appreciate you taking the time to write me one :D_

 _here's the latest chapter, and i hope i haven't made you hate me too much ;P_

 _As always please take the time to let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below, it really brightens my day :D_

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	3. A most perplexing dilemma

Chapter Three

 _'_ _What is right, and what is fair aren't always the same thing'_

Teresa Lisbon has always believed in the Justice system.

True it's always been a little broken, a little bit faulty and slow to change. But at its core it is something that tries to keep the chaos at bay. It protects society, good and innocent people, from those who take it upon themselves to cause harm.

Yet in this instance could it possibly have done what a simple shot managed? Could it have stopped the cruel game that Red John was playing?

Patrick Jane was a murderer. He'd killed the man who had destroyed his life, blown his brains to bits in front of her. In any other place, with any other people, it was an open and shut case.

But the concept, the term murderer, seemed wrong. like a puzzle piece that didn't fit.

Perhaps it was because he hadn't always been one.

He hadn't been when she'd fallen for him. The first time they met she'd made a stern warning to herself to be careful of this consultant. His nature was devious, a trickster born to manipulate and distract. But despite her vigilance, despite her exasperation, he'd stolen in while she wasn't looking. He'd made himself a place in her heart and was stubbornly refusing to give it up. She'd grown to enjoy listening to him talk, to noticing the differences in his smiles and the tall tales that he spun for the marks enjoyment.

He'd had the audacity to slip in and make her care about him, then make the choice that he did.

The utter bastard.

It's easier, she thinks, to be mad at him. because if she's angry then she doesn't have to think about her heart breaking. She doesn't have to face the terribly quandary he's placed in front of her.

She was no stranger to death. She had taken lives, although that knowledge did little to help her. Any life she had taken had been in the immediate protection of another. They'd given her no choice. It shouldn't be the same for him. and yet, she could find the reasons to justify his actions the same way.

Red John had tormented him, killed countless others in awful ways just to strike at Jane.

But it should have been justice that caught him, not a bullet.

There should have been a trial. His crimes had been public enough, striking terror into the population, his capture needed to be as well. To show that while monsters did exist, they could be caught. They could be stopped.

But…she knew locking him up was no guarantee of safety. He had already proven in his deceptive machinations that location wasn't exactly important. His disciples could strike from anywhere, following plans that could be enacted in the simplest of ways. A signal from him inside prison could cause untold devastation on the outside.

Her breath escapes through barely parted lips in a harsh exhale, breaking the silence of the room. She stares blankly up at her ceiling, fingers twisted in the pale off white sheets. She was no closer to an answer than she had been hours ago, and no closer to sleep either.

There have been days when she's believed as he did. When a criminal goes free on a technicality and murders more innocents, when a monster is allowed to continue hunting after a pathetically small sentence. She's noticed the dangerously persuasive and calm reasoning that promises simple solutions to monstrous acts. She's been tempted, God only knows how badly, into believing that a bullet is the best option, the only option. It was terrifyingly simple to believe. But she's held it back, wrestled down the beast, because once that path was started it was hard to recover from. Other cops haven't had that restraint, allowed themselves to see how easy and simple it was to clean up the world only to become the thing they hated most. They became killers, just with a badge.

She had to remind herself that it wasn't her job to kill them. It was to catch them, to bring them before trial and watch for the verdict. Because if she killed them she feared a part of her would become like them. Able to justify the death by blaming the victim.

There was a subtle click as the alarm clock next to her bed ticked over, the glowing red numbers loudly proclaiming that it was three in the morning. But these thoughts didn't seem to be coming to a halt any time soon. Whenever she tried to turn her thoughts from the crime at hand, from the dilemma, she inevitably found herself wondering if he was faring alright in the cells? Would he be able to last if they sent him to prison?

Him and his ever witty tongue. There was no doubt he was charming when he wanted to be. But sometimes he let it go too far, prodded and poked at wounds that provoked unfavourable reactions. He could very much wind up getting himself killed.

A part of her argues that she shouldn't care, that in becoming a murderer he had chosen his side and it wasn't with her.

But the other part knows that he is a good man. An irritating hyper pain in the neck most of the time, but still a good man. Years of friendship and secretly loving him don't just disappear overnight, even when he makes the choice he made.

She groans and rolls over, childishly putting her hands over hear ears, as if that would somehow quiet the conflicting parts of her mind.

It should be easy. She's cared about people before, and when they made horrible decisions she still cared, but she could do her job. But it's complicated now.

Killing Red John the way he did was wrong. They could have taken him down together, they could have done something else. but he took that choice away from them. He made the decisions and martyred himself to destroy a killer.

Yet how could she say she would have done anything less?

Red John murdered his family, taunted him for years, striking at him with an impudence few criminals could ever muster. If it had been one of her team, one of the people she loved, then how could she know what she would do when given the chance to kill the man that killed them?

Sleep, it would seem, would not come easily to her tonight. Nor , she thought, would it come easily any time soon.

* * *

 _Authors note: Hello again :D_

 _This was a pretty interesting chapter to write, (especially since i have a proposal i'm supposed to be doing and i couldn't resist writing this), mainly because i got to think about things in a new kind of way :)_

 _Anyway i hope you guys enjoyed it, and let me know what you think in that pretty little review box down below._

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~Madamred_


	4. Making the only choice

Chapter Four

 _'_ _Faith in the strangest of places'_

Working still seemed wrong, like a missing piece of the machine that made the journey clunky. Like expecting another stair when climbing in the dark the whole team feels off kilter and incomplete.

It hasn't been the same since his arrest, and she can see it's hurting the whole team. They've been quieter, less snarky. She doesn't like the change. It's as if their spirits are diminished, spending so much time in their heads she's almost surprised any of them come to work at all.

But people still need them. There are still criminals to be chased, victims to be saved and families that needed closure. The world doesn't stop just because your heart has broken and it damn sure didn't stop when you wanted it to.

They all try to ignore the way that they keep glancing at the couch. Conversations that once normally pulled him in were now left hanging in an awkward fumble. She tries to tell herself that she always scanned the room, that the couch was just a couch.

Hating him had made it easier. At least assuring herself that she hated him made it easier to cope with what he had done. So when they brought him through their department again she expected anger, even a little bit of sadness and grief at his choices. But she expected to hate him.

So when all she felt was this strange sense of relief it threw her.

She was relieved he wasn't harmed. She was relieved that he was alright. If she hated him so much, as she'd told herself at least a thousand times in the nights between, why was she so damn relieved to see him again?

Why was it that this pressure, that she'd barely noticed, around her lungs suddenly eased with confirmation of his safety?

He was no prize in this state. No longer as concerned with neatness, his hair was a mess of gold, his clothes rumpled. The once proud and immaculate consultant was now no more than an average ordinary person in handcuffs.

She notes distantly that her team has gone silent, eyes darting between them anxiously as if waiting for the show. Normally they'd have cause to watch and wait. To see the explosive fight that had yet to occur. But today, today was different. The play had changed and the characters were left reeling.

Part of her wants to rush over to him. To sweep him up in an embrace and reassure him that everything was fine between them, the way she has always done. To hold him close enough that she could feel him breathe, feel the warmth she's well aware he exudes like a damn furnace. She craves that warmth, because since this started she's felt frozen solid. As if parts of her, important and essential parts, have been blocked off and locked away.

But the part that wanted that was ruthlessly kept in check by a simple thing.

Things weren't okay between them.

Despite the provocation, despite the reasoning's she could produce, she still hadn't figured out where she stood on the matter. Hating him was an easy thing, it let her pretend that he was nothing more than a criminal and that meant she didn't have to care.

But she still cared. She still cared enough that nightmares still dithered between the scene of his act and losing him altogether.

His lawyer notices her preoccupation, strolling to her side as if there was no reason in the world to be concerned., "I'll be talking to him soon. Would you be willing to speak in his defence?"

She should say no. That's the cop's choice. He killed someone and she can't make it better just by wishing that he hadn't. she should leave him on his own and testify on behalf of the prosecution.

But she can't. Despite what he's done, the dilemma he's put her through, she cannot abandon him now. She's Teresa Lisbon and he's Patrick Jane, ever since they met its been her job to clean up his messes.

These thoughts flicker through her mind, when without her consent her mouth opens and she tells him "yes."

Inside her mind she's at war, but inside her heart?

She knows that she's just made the irrevocably right choice.

* * *

 _Authors Note: So this ones a little shorter this time round, i've managed to do some damage to my wrist, which makes typing a bitch._

 _I'm hoping the next chapter will be longer, and that you guys will continue to enjoy this story :D_

 _As always please let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below._

 _Ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	5. Twenty Two Seconds

Chapter Five

 _'_ _Twenty Two Seconds'_

It's only a few months before things come to a head. Before the evidence given by her team and by herself convinced the court that for all his faults, Patrick Jane was not a murderer. His actions, while unpleasant were not entirely his own fault. Red John was a master manipulator after all, and there is ample evidence to show how he taunted and tormented Jane. He had good reason to want the man dad and even more reason to fear him to the point where murder became an act of self-defence rather than an act of revenge.

She's still not sure if she believes it. His actions are difficult to accept and scarily easy to justify. But in the end she's played her part, stuck with her gut and gave the evidence that mitigated his crime. He is a free man, signed and sealed by the court.

But that does not comfort her the way she hoped it would. It is a relief to know that he is free, but the doubting voice is still in her mind, wondering if it had been anybody else, anyone that she was not stupidly in love with, would she have made the same move?

She doesn't go to see him when he's released. It's a matter of survival. If she wants to continue being her, then she must move on alone. They havent spoken for some time, she'd given an impassioned plea in his defence and monitored the case as it progressed. But the speaking thing is something she's having trouble with.

It isn't that she doesn't want to see him. Most of the time it was quite the opposite, and she'd turn to share a joke only to realise he wasn't there far too often for it to be entirely unnoticed. The need to see him, to speak and hear his voice again was sometimes so intense that she felt as if she'd lost a part of herself in ignoring him.

But the thought of talking to him again, of finding that old camaraderie when things had drastically changed between them scared her. What would it say about her that she could slip so easily into old patterns regardless of the crimes he committed? The idea of it being the same after everything felt wrong, like fingertips on sandpaper. They could not go back to what they were.

She had to move on. That was the only way she knew how to cope. She'd done her last duty to him, cleaned up the last of his messes and the worst of his judgements. He had made his decision and now she had to make hers.

It would be so much easier if she could believe that she was making the right choice.

It isn't as if she's expecting to see him again anyway. Almost certain that now he has accomplished his revenge he has no use for her team, no use for her. There was no reason for him to come back to them any longer. It was an arrangement she believed that he'd stick to.

But, as always, Patrick Jane surprised her.

Ten days after his release he'd come to see her. Not at work where the role she plays is like a steel coat, protecting her from harm, but rather at home where the roles were muddied and the cloaks discarded. Strode into her home as if he'd owned the place, framed briefly by the dappled sunlight through her door. His confidence was irritating and somewhat arousing at the same time.

He stared at her as if memorising every feature down to the bone, every new line every strand of out of place hair.

"Why?" it's the first thing he asks, his voice low and rich. Like smooth aloe across a burn it soothes her to hear it again.

Is he asking why she did not come to see him? Why she was not there for the rest of the trial? For the verdict itself?

Perhaps he is asking the question that tormented her still, and with a few brief words he confirmed it, "Why did you speak for me?"

Her gaze is dragged to him, determined to look him in the eyes at least once before she banishes him from her life. It damn near shatters her heart and she watches his eyes widen. The pain in her gaze has shocked him and that wasn't easy to manage.

There were a dozen excuses that she could have used. A thousand different reasons that she'd come up with in the interim since her decision to justify it to her confused brain. But she's tired of throwing justifications, of making up reasons when she knows exactly why she spoke for him. The game they played had never allowed her to admit it before, the rules she'd set in place so firmly were the very barriers that kept her from letting it be the reason. She's tired of those rules and damned if she doesn't want to say it just once before she banishes him from her life.

"Because I love you."

Four words and fifteen letters. That's all it takes to set a change in motion. Twenty seconds of shocked silence as they carry across the divide and sink into his brain. But for all his surprise hers is far greater. Not only that the words were finally said aloud. But because she certainly hadn't meant to use the present tense. She'd loved him. loved…past tense right?

So why did she say love?

And why on earth did it feel as if it were the right word?

He's in motion before she can fully understand it. He crosses the space between them in her tiny kitchen and sinks his hands into her hair, pulling her to him in a desperate kiss.

As far as first kisses go, it's certainly unique. He tastes like peppermint with a hint of spice, an odd combination that somehow produces an exotic richness as his tongue maps the contours of her mouth. It was as if in that moment the barriers between them were torn away, there was no betrayal, no blood on handsome hands. Just him and her, duelling in a frenzied dance of sensation.

One of her hands bunches in the collar of his shirt, holding him against her with a strength she was almost surprised at. The other one finds its way into his hair, that gorgeous rumpled mess that she's itched to sink her fingers into for an uncomfortably long time. He cradles her surprisingly gently for all the strength in his hands, allowing one hand to migrate to her back and press her impossibly closer.

By all rights it was too much, too intense and it should have been uncomfortable with the fierceness of it. It was exactly the wrong kind of kiss for their first.

Then again, they've never really been good at doing things the right way.

When the need for air finally overcomes the frantic desire to be consumed they break apart. She stares up at him, the kiss swollen lips and flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes and tousled hair, all of which seem drawn from her dreams. But this? this was better, this was real.

He's staring back at her, as if he's truly seeing her for the first time.

In a way though, he is. They both are.

She's finally seeing him, not the irritating consultant façade he'd mastered, without the burning need to bring Red John to justice. He's seeing her without the steel cloak of her job wrapped around her, without the rules and regulations she uses to shield herself from the world. For the first time they are finally looking at each other, not the people they pretended to be.

"You are an ass." That makes him chuckle, a soft sound that contrasts with the rawness of their kiss, but she isn't finished yet, "I swear I've owed you a solid punch in the face for quite some time now."

Suddenly his hand is on her cheek, cupping her face in an unspeakably gentle motion. The sheer warmth of his touch, what it could mean, is almost overwhelming.

"I know. But in my defence, you're cute when you're angry." He murmured, voice slipping across her senses and carrying that hint of all too typical amusement with it.

A flicker of frustration rises in her, but she brushes it away with a thought. Irritation was just a natural state around him after all. She continues, determined to see it through, "But still. Somehow you just slipped in when I wasn't looking and made yourself at home. Suddenly I couldn't imagine a world where you weren't beside me, making my life so much more complicated than I wanted."

He smiles at that, his eyes showing warmth that she desperately wants to drown in.

"I'm sorry." He radiates sincerity now, and despite what that usually means, she believes him. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. that I made your life difficult. I never wanted to hurt you."

She notices that he doesn't say that he didn't want to make her life difficult. Good thing too, or else she would have called foul.

But the things between them, the bond, it's not so easily repaired. A kiss, admittedly a mind meltingly good kiss, can't make the situation change. His posture changes and she somehow knows that he's about to explain his actions and before she can think about it, her finger presses against his lips.

"You don't have to explain Jane. I know why you did it." the words hang in the air between them before she continues, "I just don't know if I can be okay with it."

He flinches in pain, and for all the good intentions between them, they were the most dangerous people in the world to each other. They had the power to hurt all too easily and the distraction to do it without thinking.

She should send him away, cut him out of her life as she'd intended at the start of their conversation. Because as much as he's a part of her, as much as she's missed him, she doesn't know if it's enough. Walking away now would hurt, but if they went down this road, if they made this choice and he made the same decision with another criminal it would hurt far worse. In her experience it was sometimes very easy to apply that justification, to use it as a shield to take the easy route out.

Would she even be considering forgiveness if it wasn't him?

* * *

 _Authors note: Hopefully I've redeemed myself for the short chapter last week, if only to infuriate with the cliff hanger ending here._

 _I just wanted to say that i know I've kind of glossed over the trial, and perhaps it doesn't make too much sense. But in my experience Trials tend to be quite boring, and so i didn't really want to do a whole chapter on it. Plus, despite the truly astounding amount of crime shows i watch, i'm not too clear on certain elements of a trial so..._

 _anyway, i just wanted to explain why it's kind of glossed over ;)_

 _Please let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below ;)_

 _ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


	6. Belief

.

Chapter Six

 _'_ _Does She believe?'_

He always makes things messy.

She always had a plan, an inclination of where to go or what to do. But when it comes to him, when it comes to his involvement in her life, there are no plans. She's constantly improvising, re-evaluating, flying high in a dangerous dance that promises broken bones and bruised flesh if she stumbles.

She knows that she loves him, knows it in the same way that she knows she needs air to survive. It's essential, integral to her being. But that isn't the issue here. Her head and her heart are opposed, and she desperately wants to make it simple. To characterise him one way so that the decision she makes can make it stop hurting.

But people are not polarised, there is no easy solution and pain exists whether the mind wants it to or not.

His hands move and grip onto her arms, the gesture almost unconscious as he stared into her eyes. The look he gave her wasn't calculated, wasn't devised to elicit sympathy or ease her frustrations. It was the gaze of a man holding onto something infinitely precious. A man who feared that at any moment it could be yanked from his grasp and he would be left with nothing.

When he speaks his voice is slightly hoarse as if the words are dragged from him, "You have every right to be confused, to be angry. I've put you in a terrible position. I won't say that I wish my actions undone, or that I'd change them." he breaths out in a terrible sigh, "but I do regret hurting you. that my choice forced you into such a dilemma."

His sincerity is touching, the pain in his voice is heartbreaking. His grip is tight but not painful enough that she feels the need to shake it off. He seems lost for words, desperately trying to come up with something that will convey the truth of what he's feeling.

He swallows, the muscles in his throat flexing briefly as he prepares to try again, "I have no right to ask you to forgive me. I made the choice, and I understand that." Pain splinters his gaze, she can feel the tension in his hands and in his arms. "But not seeing you. not being able to talk to you. To hear your voice or see your exasperated face…that hurt. It hurt a lot more than I was prepared for."

Her breath catches and her heart clenches. He felt the same. As if he were missing some piece, some important piece of himself with her absence. He'd needed her presence as she'd needed his. There is a tension in him, a desperation that calls out to her in a way that mere words could not possibly express in its entirety.

He hunches slightly, as if preparing to take a blow, "I understand if you can't forgive me. If you tell me to leave, then I will. But…I want to stay." She's never heard him sound so sad, so alone. Such a difference from his usual confident self. "I want to fix things between us. You made my life bearable again, even when I thought there was no hope, no chance of ever finding him. You made it bearable and there is nothing I can ever do to repay you for that. Please. Don't send me away."

Tears gather on her lashes, prickling and tingling the corners of her eyes as she stares up at him. He has never been this honest with her, never thrown down the walls between them to this extent. Part of her wants to gather him close, to soothe the pain he's feeling. The other part is confused and afraid. Trapped on a ledge and wondering if the only way out is the one he's presenting.

She's never needed anyone. Not when it comes to her personal life. She's so used to going it alone, to protecting herself and stitching up her own wounds that the thought of anyone else being part of it is terrifying.

This wasn't a fairy tale, apologies don't always fix problems and sometimes there is no happy ending. Sometimes when bad decisions come along, you have to pick the one that will hurt less.

"Please Lisbon. I promise I will never put you in this position again. I will make you mad, make you lecture me and probably want to punch me on a lot of occasions. But I will never ask you to choose between your morals and me again. Ever. Please."

He's begging. Or at least the closest to it she's ever seen him do. The thought of it shocks her, renders her speechless as her mind spins. He slumps at her lack of response, dropping his hands from her shoulders and hunching even further in on himself. Her heart screams at her, threatening to tear in two at the sheer sadness and agony in his expression on his face.

"Patrick." She speaks his name, her voice thick with unshed tears.

He freezes in place, precariously balanced between hope and fear. Impossible hope that she might not send him away, and a terrible fear that this was only the precursor to a lot of rage and hate.

Patrick Jane, her irritating consultant who had managed to turn her life into an unpredictable adventure every day, was open to her. All guards down, all half-truths and misdirection's gone.

He's not the knight in shining armour, not the crusader hell bent on revenge anymore. He's a little broken, and he's certainly made a few bad choices. But she isn't the princess in distress either, waiting for the knight to rescue her from a world that was too harsh to be borne. She's her own protector, with a gun instead of a sword and Kevlar instead of a suit of armour. She's a little broken too, bad decisions and bad cases that stick to her soul and make her determined to do a little better.

Maybe theirs is a story that was destined never to be. Maybe all that awaits is pain and sorrow.

But she believes.

Despite the pain, despite everything they've been through and all the reasons why they should never be together, she believes in him.

It's not a magical choice. It doesn't instantly make everything right. The wounds he's inflicted will take time to heal. But she knows that she doesn't want him to go. That letting him leave would break something inside of her she wasn't willing to give up.

"It's Teresa." She manages to choke out, "My name is Teresa." She wants him to say her name again. Tears finally break free from their confinement and tumbling down her cheeks in a wave of warmth. Her hand reaches out, reaches for him and there's a distinct tremble in them that she tries to ignore.

The look on his face is gratifying, awed and hopeful, and impossibly amused that she's chosen to convey her acceptance by asking him to use her name. In a second he's gathered her up again, pressing her against his chest in an impossibly tight grip.

He murmurs softly, she can feel his chest rumble with the sound of it, "Teresa."

Her name has never sounded so precious, so wonderful as it did when it fell from his lips in that beautiful murmur. She's crying, but it's a strange kind of crying, not quite sad and not quite happy either. It's a release, a promise and he murmurs her name again and again like it's a precious gift to be allowed to say it.

* * *

 _Authors note: I will admit, i wrote two versions of this chapter. I ended up liking this one just a bit more though, call me a romantic at heart ;)_

 _It's going up a bit later than i intended it to today, blame a massive storm that knocked out my net for a good few hours -_-_

 _The storm was pretty though, if somewhat intimidating in the sheer loudness of it :D_

 _Anyway, as always, please let me know what you think in that pretty review box down below. I'm really curious as to what people thought of this chapter :D_

 _Have an absolutely wonderful day,_

 _Ta ta for now_

 _~Madamred_


	7. A simple happiness

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Chapter Seven

 _'A simple happiness'_

His return to the team is nothing short of disruptive. Though they'd never have said it aloud, Jane was a part of them as much as he was a part of her. Losing him, while not disastrous for their romantic lives, had hurt. It had changed them, sapped some of the life from their eyes. They had mourned his loss, even as they'd been angered over his actions. But now, now that he's returned to them, that is beginning to change.

He regales them with a story, the details of which she can't quite hear but are obviously amusing to her team. She can finally see who they used to be, a little older, a little sadder and just a bit wiser but the light is back within them.

Dusty sunlight streams through the windows, painting the bull pen in a nostalgic warmth. She has missed this. Light and laughter, especially in their line of work, was hard to come by and even harder to maintain. She watches over them from the door to her office, the hustle and bustle of the station fading into the background as she revels in the joy in their faces.

But as always, her eyes are drawn to him. The way the sunlight shines in his hair, turning the blonde curls into shining strands of gold. The way it kissed his features and made his eyes sparkle like gemstones. He seems lighter now, the rage and the pain of his quest of revenge finally abating. He has allowed himself the right to heal, to move forward, and they are finally allowed to see him for who he is, rather than what he wanted them to see.

He still drives her mad, makes stupid decisions that get her in trouble more often than not. But she hadn't really expected that to change. When he pushes too hard, or does something that makes her entertain the idea of strangling him, it seems somewhat peaceful. A return to the place where they began so they can move forward together.

It's not all the same though, when he messes up he does compensate her for not giving in to her impulse to strangle him. He brings her coffee, usually one of those obnoxiously sweet confections from Starbucks, peppermint swirls on whipped cream. She'd never had a penchant for sweet things, but this is surprisingly the exception. It's a vice she wasn't aware she'd ever demonstrated until he'd brought it to her. Part of her dreads its arrival, especially if he hasn't gotten into trouble beforehand, because it usually means shit is about to hit the fan. The other part of her is just so utterly amused by his antics, the way he treated the coffee like some invaluable treasure that must be perfect before he presents it to her, that each time it appears it makes her feel warm.

This part is also helped by his insistence that he gets to remove the cream when it gets on her lips as she drinks. They're both aware she could just use a straw, but it is as much a ritual between them as his constant pushing of her buttons.

It is a happiness she had never expected to find, a peace that she had never thought to seek out.

That is not to say that the problems between them have magically disappeared. With such dominant personalities and such a dangerous power in them, they have their fair share of fights. But it's different now. Where before it had been explosive and painful, each left to stew for several days until the next crisis threw them together, now they had an understanding. They could never stop themselves from fighting, they were far too hard headed and stubborn for that. But the aftermath has changed. They're figuring it out together, choosing again and again to make it better rather than letting it be dragged apart.

Looking back, it almost seemed inevitable that they'd find each other. They had been alone for so long, searching for the missing puzzle piece that they could never find in anyone else. Desperately searching for someone to fill up the empty spaces inside of them and make them feel whole once more, never understanding that the person who held that piece was right across from them. They make each other into better people. He softens the sharpness of her edges, draws her back from the perils of her job and reminds her that there is more to life than just Justice. She in turn calms his impulsive nature, challenges the laid back attitude that he has towards a lot of things, reminds him that people are more than puzzles to be solved.

He suddenly meets her eyes from across the room, and the light in them is hard to deny. Not a possessive heat, though there are moments when that happens too (which never fails to make her knees weak and her heart race), but it was a light that the old Jane would never have shown. Peaceful, happy, and beyond all else, warm. He looks at her like she's incredibly precious, like she makes him happy.

She smiles back, his joy is contagious and it infects everyone around him. There is work she should be doing, reports that really should be finished by today and filed. But, the afternoon light shows her something far more important than work. She's not above luxuriating in it.

Besides, the reports will still be there tomorrow, the work is not pressing enough that some grand catastrophe will befall them if they wait a single day. She knows they'll get them done.

The day was nearly over anyway, and soon she'd be packing up. He'd drift over, as was his routine, and they'd both go home together. She revels in the normality of it, of walking into her home (which has really become their home), cooking food together. Well…he cooks, she tries not to set him on fire accidentally. Or, if the day has been particularly trying, on purpose. The banter that they share, the gentle teasing that makes it seem as if they have escaped the real world and forged a little world of their own.

She'd never believed a life like this was possible for her, especially with him. They had been, in her mind, like gunpowder and flame. Destined to forever avoid getting too close for fear of hurting themselves and the people around them. Though their matchup promised heat, fireworks and flashy sensations, it didn't promise this kind of normality.

But it hadn't been fate that they'd ended up together. Fate had provided the opportunity, thrown them together because they'd needed the other to survive. They could have remained friends, could have retreated from the fearful path that they'd embarked on. They could have allowed themselves to be consumed by their fear, their doubts and their almost certain disbelief in a happy ending. But they'd made a decision to try.

To stand on the edge of that precipice, to grab the others hand and leap together into a future that wasn't quite clear.

Perhaps life wasn't about waiting for a happy ending. Indeed, all a happy ending really tells you is that the story is over. Perhaps what is truly important is the journey they take to get there. Despite the trials they've faced (literal trials included), the pain they've inflicted upon each other, there is no one else she'd rather walk this path with.

He stands up from the couch as she drifts, immediately drawing her attention back to this world. A quick glance to the clock tells her that she's been standing here for almost ten minutes, just listening to them and thinking.

He moves to the kitchen, no doubt to brew himself more tea. And her team continues the conversation, calling out across the small space with some teasing remark. He fires back, mocking Rigsby with a gentle admonishment.

Finding herself back at the start, in a rhythm that was both familiar and yet utterly new at the same time, wasn't as scary as she'd feared it to be. She'd feared finding this rhythm again, how could she forgive that? But it's not about forgiveness now. There is a future for them, one that is free of Red John.

There is a whiff of peppermint, and her brain is suddenly shunted out of nostalgic warmth. Because what he's carrying out of the kitchen is not his tea. By smell alone she knows that. His tea, while also peppermint, has a richer scent around it, floral and slightly sweet.

She turns her head, and locks eyes with him. Her brain fills in the details, she'd heard the whisper of something she assumed was the kettle, but it must have been the whipped cream.

Because he is carrying one of those obnoxious coffees with a somewhat hesitant smile on his face.

Her mind goes blank for a second, and all she can think is this was either going to be very funny, or she's going to want to strangle him.

Judging by the amount of whipped cream, it's probably going to be a 'strangle' day.

So it's a mystery to her why she can't wipe the smile off her face.

* * *

 _Authors note:_

 _So here we are! My final chapter :D_

 _This has been one of the more interesting stories to write. I really liked getting to debate with people over it. I hope you guys have enjoyed reading it as much as i have writing it!_

 _Originally there was going to be smut, (i may come back and write that chapter) but this felt more fitting for me as i was writing. So hopefully i haven't disappointed you guys too much :D_

 _Anyways, please let me know what you think, even though this will be in the complete category :D *makes puppy eyes* please?_

 _Have a wonderful day everybody,_

 _ta ta for now,_

 _~MadamRed_


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